


Nobody Knows Me At All

by Whispering_Sumire



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (Ish) - Freeform, Anti-Sokovia Accords, Anxiety, Civil War Fix-It, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Family, Friendship, Gen, Guilt, Heartfelt Conversations, Heavy Angst, Honesty, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Maria Stark's A+ Parenting, Past Child Abuse, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, The Raft Prison (Marvel), Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Panic Attacks, Tony Stark Has Trust Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, people are complicated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26763826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whispering_Sumire/pseuds/Whispering_Sumire
Summary: Zemo orchestrated a lot of things to get Tony and Steve into that room with that monitor, and he made a lot of assumptions along the way. He was right about some things, wrong about others.His biggest mistake was making any assumptions about Tony Stark. (This tends to be everyone's biggest mistake.)[Or: the one where Tony's reaction to Bucky murdering his parents iswildlydifferent.]((Alternatively titled: the goal is to not get decapitated when shit hits the fan))
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Avengers Team
Comments: 20
Kudos: 375





	Nobody Knows Me At All

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning: I don't know what I'm doing and this isn't my main priority WIP so updates will be slow & tags are subject to change
> 
>  **Trigger Warning :** Past Child Abuse, Tony is Panicky, Bucky's History
> 
> soulhugs and enjoy?
> 
> * runs away

So, here's the thing: Tony's already started doubting the Accords.

He hadn't actually read them, before he'd signed them, in such desperate need of a _leash._ He had thought: it's the Merchant of Death thing all over again, it's the Ultron thing all over again, and if his freedom means he keeps on hurting people, keeps on getting them killed, then what's the use in it?

He'd met exhaustion's event horizon, and he'd just wanted someone else to take the goddamn reigns, for _once._

117 nations had agreed on this.

Then Tony had met Peter. Golden heart on his sleeve, that kid. Asked so many questions. Wanted to keep his Aunt May out of it, wanted to keep himself secret. If Tony knew, okay, _"but nobody else, right, Mister Stark?"_

The plan, in his head, had always been to go easy on them. The 'Rogues'. Because he still loved them. They were still family. But he was by the books, now, wasn't he?

A law-abiding citizen.

And the law wanted Steve, Clint, Wanda, Sam, and Barnes. Barnes, who was most likely framed for the bombing in Vienna. Who, before the camera-feed to his cell had cut out, had looked _terrified._

So Tony brings Peter because his main goal is to bring them home, not to hurt them. Natasha brings the Black Panther. Tony has a feeling that T'Challa didn't get the memo about the possible set-up, doesn't know that the man responsible for his father's death isn't going to be here. He wonders what Natasha was thinking.

The fight goes from _take it easy on them_ to _fuck it, bring out the big guns_ real fucking fast.

The Rogues aren't pulling their fucking punches, they are _determined._

Peter gets knocked down by the big guy - Ant-Man, or whatever - and Tony grounds him. _"That was scary,"_ rings in his ears, breathless and too goddamn young.

Tony never should've brought him here. But then, he wasn't quite expecting... this.

Vision is compromised and distracted and tragically in love with someone who thought that putting him through eight practically indestructible floors was acceptable collateral damage. The hangar is chaos and destruction and a strange ache building in the back of Tony's eyes.

Steve and Barnes are on a plane headed out. Tony and Rhodey are following them. Sam is shooting at them.

Rhodey calls for Vision to assist.

Vision fires that beam of his.

Sam cannonballs out of the way.

Rhodey's hit.

Neither Tony nor Sam are fast enough to stop him falling.

Fuck.

_Fuck._

So Tony is angry and exhausted and guilty (he is always these things) when the Black Widow approaches him in the distant aftermath. She's bowing out, she tells him. She's done. She's defecting.

Tony's mask is too fragile right now for him to pretend that it doesn't upset him, that it doesn't feel like betrayal at its finest. Out of all of them, she's been the hardest one for him to trust. He remembers the first time he was ever honest with her while she was also being honest with him. Across the booth from Fury at that doughnut place, the sting of a needle still buzzing in his neck: _"Could you please not do anything awful for five seconds?"_ he'd said.

She is a spy, she is a spider, how could he let himself forget that?

His best friend is lying in a hospital bed, he'll probably never walk again, and a woman who at once feels like a sister and a teammate and a stranger is staring at him with conviction burning in her grey-green eyes, her loyalty owned by somebody else. He lashes out. Of course, he does.

His head is pounding.

She says, "Are you incapable of letting go of your ego for one goddamn second?" and he remembers that it was her who did that psych-eval on him while he was dying, textbook narcism and _Iron Man: Yes, Tony Stark: Not Recommended._

She really doesn't know him at all, does she?

But, then, maybe it is his ego to her, maybe it is selfish to be thinking more about the betrayal, in this moment, than the big picture. Everyone underestimates his ability to multitask. Everyone underestimates his ability to _feel._

Still, he wants her safe. Even after all this. "T'Challa told Ross what you did, so... they're comin' for you." A warning and a small prayer. _Get out of here, keep your head low, hide._

He didn't know about the Raft until thirty minutes ago. His veins are still shaking.

Her response? "I'm not the one that needs to watch their back."

Ouch.

Seriously, ouch.

* * *

When Tony begins reading the Accords, reading the fine-print, dread pools in the pit of his stomach. Some legal choices set a precedent, and Tony's a futurist. More than that, he's a genius.

He can see where this will go if it prevails. It won't stop with the Avengers. There's a lot of fear in all this red tape, not just of Aliens and super-soldiers, but of mutants, too. Peter and Wanda weren't born with their gifts, but there are people being born with gifts every single day. It's happening more and more all over the world.

The collar that the Accords presents looks less and less friendly by the minute.

Steve had said that the safest hands were still their own. Rhodey had said that was _dangerously_ arrogant. Tony had thought that Rhodey was right. He still does.

Their hands have never been safe.

But the Accords want to do more than bind _their_ hands. They want all of the people in the world with the power to defend it to come to heel, or _face the consequences._

Tony's fingers go numb, his intestines tingle necrotic. Each page he turns, each line he reads makes it worse.

There are the dawnings of a kind of dystopia printed out on this paper.

* * *

Seeing the Raft in person is an agony to rival shrapnel in the chest.

His pulse beats in his ears, a drowning rush of sound. His family should not be in here. He doesn't want them to be in here. He's going to have a panic attack if he doesn't calm the hell down.

Ross says, barely two seconds after Tony's landed: "You really think I'm gonna listen to you after that — _fiasco_ in Leipzig?"

And Tony thinks, _What the hell do you mean? You **asked** for that fiasco._

Then he says: "You're _lucky_ you're not in one of these cells."

And Tony keeps his goddamn mouth shut. Breathes in through his nose, out through his mouth, perfectly measured. Tony drinks in everything that he can about this place as Ross leads him through the observation deck to the cells. Every screen in the room is dedicated to a prisoner.

Wanda, he notes, with a dull sense of daunted terror, is in a straightjacket.

He keeps his breathing even.

Walks into the detainment area, alone.

Clint doesn't wait for him to approach anyone, just begins talking — clapping, actually, all irony and ire: "The futurist, gentlemen. The futurist is here! He sees all." Funny, because that's exactly what Tony is trying to do right now. _See all._ But he stops looking for weaknesses in this prison and walks toward Clint's cell. He'll have to be careful: Big Brother's watching. "He knows what's best for you," Clint's voice wanes, "whether you like it or not."

Tony keeps his breath even, tries to make his heart rate slow. It's difficult. Every sigh is an attempt to keep from panting, from hyperventilating.

"Gimme a break, Barton," he says. Bad habit of his, not calling people by their first names when he feels unsafe. Not a habit anyone's caught onto, though. It won't give him away to the people upstairs, but it won't give him away to Clint, either, and that hurts. Deeper than he expects it to, to be honest. "I had no idea they'd put you in here, c'mon."

"Yeah, well, you knew they'd put us somewhere, Tony."

Did he? He's never been very good at thinking things through. He's got hindsight and forethought, but whenever the present hits him it's still unexpected and all-consuming. A surprise every time.

Accusation makes Clint's sky-blue eyes darker. Heavier.

The things Tony chooses not to say in that moment could fill a room, and it's only partially because there are cameras on them.

"Yeah, but not some super-max floating ocean pokey, y'know. This is a place for maniacs, a place for—" breathe, breathe, breathe, he tells himself. Don't think about Wanda, don't think about the straightjacket, don't think about the dread.

"Criminals?" Clint says. Stands up from his cot to saunter up to the glass, the bars. "Criminals, Tony. Think that's the word you're lookin' for. Right?" The weight in those eyes seems to reach out, press against Tony's chest. He tries not to sway. _Keep breathing._ "Didn't used to mean _me._ Or Sam, or Wanda. But _here we are."_

Tony wishes he could say, "Not for long. I swear on my life, not for long."

But the cameras are still rolling, and he can't turn them off yet. Not for this.

Instead, he says, "Because you broke the law," which is true. A plain fact. Emotions disregarded. "I didn't make you," also true. Not so plain fact. He blames himself more than any of them ever could. "You read it, you broke it."

"La, la, la, la, la," Clint begins, and Tony feels a tidal-wave of incredulity crashing over him. It's strangely surreal.

"You're all grown up-" Are you? Are you, really? _La, la, la, la, la-_ "alright? You've got a wife and kids. I don't understand; why didn't you think about them before you chose the wrong side?"

Not what he meant to say, not what he should've said, that was too low a blow, but there's a bubble of hysteria swelling in Tony's throat and he really needs Clint to stop saying _la_ or he's going to fucking _lose it._

His lungs contract at the glare Clint sends him, and Tony decides to remove himself before this can go any further.

"Better watch your back with this guy," Clint calls after him. His cell clangs with an unseen impact. Tony flinches. Reprimands himself harshly. Attempts to rally his lungs back into order. "There's a chance he's going to break it!"

...

Breathe.

Breathe.

Move.

Rhodey's alive. He's not okay, but he's alive. Vision's watching over him, haunted by what he has done, even though it's nowhere near his fault.

They're fine. They're _fine._

Tony can't think about them right now.

He goes to Sam. Who, of course, asks about Rhodey first thing. He's feeling guilty, too. God, they all are.

Tony knocks out the eye in the sky the second he's able. It gives them thirty seconds. He'll be able to hack the Raft better later but for now, this is all he's got. He lays it out as quickly as he can: Zemo, the danger Barnes and Steve are in, that he made a mistake (he cannot reveal the extent of that mistake yet, there isn't time), that he wants to help, but first he needs to know where Steve is. _Please._

Sam, thank _fuck,_ is convinced: "I'll tell you," he says. "But you have to go alone. And as a friend."

Tony almost smiles. "Easy."

* * *

Tony is marching toward his exit when Ross calls, "Stark!" Tony doesn't even look back. "Did he give you anything on Rogers?"

"Nah, he told me to go to hell. I'm goin' to the compound instead, but — you can call me anytime," he casts a smirk over his shoulder, playing with fire, "I'll put you on hold, I like to watch the line blink."

* * *

So, here's the thing: Tony's changed his mind about the Accords.

He wants his family back, he wants them to fight _together_ again, instead of _against each other._ He is terrified that he is too late, that the rift has grown too vast. But no matter what, after this, they're breaking Sam, Clint, Wanda, and that other guy out of the Raft.

The possibility of more Hydra super-soldiers takes precedence, but... after.

Until it doesn't, because all the other Winter Soldiers are _dead._

Barnes' fingers flex around his gun, "What the hell."

Tony is in full agreement. _What the hell?_

And then Zemo appears in the window of a chamber built to withstand the launch blasts of UR-100 rockets. Turns out, this was never about obtaining five Hydra super-soldiers, it was about revenge. For Sokovia. Because it all comes back to that, doesn't it?

Zemo's grand plan involves one of the monitors in the middle of the room playing a very specific video. An old security-feed, an old grief, all meant to spur someone into violent action.

As soon as the video begins to play, Tony hears himself say: "I know that road."

Then he is quiet. Small. Watching his father's car crash. Watching the Winter Soldier murder Howard and Maria Stark in cold blood.

The tape ends.

Everything is still.

Tony remembers — he remembers his mother, curled around him when he was... He doesn't know how old he was. She'd smelled like honey and sour wine. Her nails had been sharp in his skin. She'd always been a coin spinning between love and hate, when it came to him. He remembers his father. Big hands leaving bruises over his ribs, around his wrists. Whiskey, all the time, and such disgust.

Tony powers his repulsor, aims it at the video screen, and fires.

Sits down, hard.

Closes his eyes.

Breathes.

"Did I ever tell you why I don't like to be handed things?" he says, into the air. He's not expecting a response. He's not expecting anything. He's tired. Just — really, really tired.

There is a long pause before Steve, ever the brave one, murmurs, "No."

Tony tsks. "Howard wouldn't let me in the lab unless I was- was _useful._ Never gave me gloves. Ended up handing me—. Well, let's just say I held a lot of painful things. He was too drunk to notice, half the time."

"Tony," Steve says. He sounds like he's in pain.

"I don't know who he was when you knew him," Tony says. "He wasn't a good father, Cap. My parents— they weren't really cut out to be parents. I was in the hospital when they died, you know? I'd, uh, corrected Howard on a project of his. The math was wrong. Couldn't help myself. Never can. He, uh, he—" fat drops of water are rolling down his cheeks, hot and unhurried. His throat seems filled with the sea. But Tony's pretty good at drowning by now, pretty good at breathing through the saltwater. "Started hitting me," he says. "Wouldn't stop."

_"Tony."_

"I thought I was going to die," he tells them.

Steve slumps down beside him like his legs can't hold him up any longer.

"Three days later they were dead instead."

Steve's head bows. Hand reaches out. Tony retracts his gauntlet and folds their palms together. Even with the serum, Steve's hands are delicate, better suited to drawing than fighting. They're warm. Kind.

"Hey, Barnes?" Tony wonders.

Barnes eases himself down on Tony's other side, all slow, fluid grace. His gun is in his lap. His eyes patrol the room, scanning for danger, before they land on Tony's. There is an upsetting amount of depth to them.

"I'm sending you the fruit basket for this, okay? I know pretty much everything you did while you were a prisoner of war is on Hydra, but I don't really want to-to owe them any gratitude for anything ever, so." Barnes simply stares at him, expression soft enough that it hurts to look at. "Give me this one."

Barnes nods, accepting. Then: "Call me Bucky."

"Bucky," Tony says. A thought occurs to him, "Wait, do you even like fruit?"

Steve huffs wetly, grip flickering tighter.

Bucky's lips twitch, accent distinctly Russian when he answers: "Yes. I like fruit."

"I could make you a new arm, too," Tony suggests.

"Tony," Steve says, sounding ever-so-slightly exasperated, where Bucky just goes from open book to incredibly hard to read.

"What? I could do so much better."

Steve sighs, looks at him with red-rimmed eyes, smiles faintly. "I know."

Tony swallows. Takes a deep breath. "So," he says. "The Accords are bad news."

Steve squeezes his hand, mouth thinning.

"I fucked up."

"Maybe," Steve allows. "But I kinda think we all did."

"Is that 'fight together, lose together' thing still an option?"

Steve's presence looms, devours the world around it. He is nothing but sheer conviction when he answers: _"Always."_


End file.
